


Café Kismet

by cwtchbuddy



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artists, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, M/M, Minor Canonical Character(s), Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-06-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:19:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7327060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cwtchbuddy/pseuds/cwtchbuddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yifan walked into a café near his apartment building looking for inspiration. He didn’t know that he was going to get more than what he was hoping for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Café Kismet

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [](http://kissfanxing.livejournal.com/profile)[kissfanxing](http://kissfanxing.livejournal.com/) I wanted this to be super short and fluffy but hey if you want NC-17, then I’ll give you NC-17. ;) And sorry OP but I tweaked something from your prompt. I hope you’ll still like it though. :p Love you [](http://lowarctic.livejournal.com/profile)[lowarctic](http://lowarctic.livejournal.com/) for beta-ing this in the middle of writing ;____;

Light brown hair, eyes of a darker shade, nose subtly sharp, lips plump and undeniably kissable and skin as pale and as beautiful as the moonlight. 

That is the image Yifan is blessed with every day. 

Usually sat a table across from him and in his own quiet little world, much like Yifan, the man scribbles on his sketchpad, details of it Yifan cannot be certain of. But, the other looks very determined with every stroke and he grumbles a little whenever he makes a mistake and has to erase or redraw the whole thing. Just from the everyday stuff he does and brings, Yifan can deduce that the man is a person of art. Pencils litter his table, greyish substance that came from all his erasing dotting the brown surface as his tongue pokes out of his lips in a concentrated expression when he adds details onto his drawing.

Yifan himself is a person of art; literature. Empty of inspiration, the writer decided to walk around one sunny afternoon with his notebook and pen and chanced upon the café he usually passes by on his way from the convenience store. He gave it a shot and thought the atmosphere inside the shop would give him some sort of motivation, no matter how little, and be able to break through this so-called _writer’s_ _block_. He hoped that he would get inspired by the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, by the dimly lit surroundings that seemed to paint ordinary yet fascinating scenarios or by the quiet chatter around him. What he didn’t expect was that minutes after he sat down with his Americano, his inspiration would arrive in the form a medium built, fair-heighted brunette with a gorgeous smile.

The man took a seat on the table across his; a satchel, that looked too full for Yifan’s tastes, was hanging around his shoulder and it came in contact with the chair beside him with a loud thud. He seemed to be a regular as the author noticed one of the staff approach and ask him if he’s going to have his usual order to which he nodded and smiled, a dimple appeared on his right cheek precisely in Yifan’s line of sight as if the other meant for the writer to see it.

Yifan tried his best not to look like he was fawning over his unexpected muse’s beauty or the way his dainty fingers held the pencil. He tried very hard not to but his eyes kept landing on the brunette every time he lifted his head and the other being directly in front of him did not help either. He wrote more in the next hour or so compared to the days prior combined, being inspired only by the mere presence of the unnamed man. Hours passed by with him glancing at the man from time to time to take note of his features and the little habits he displayed, until the brunette stood up and picked up his things and dumped them all in his bag. Yifan would have winced at the chaos that the inside of the man’s satchel must be in, if he didn’t catch the said male’s eyes, which was followed by the brunette nodding and dimpling at him. The moment came by swiftly and Yifan forgot how he reacted, he doesn’t even remember if he did or not. What the author remembers was that he fell in love in those split seconds with the unnamed man and his adorably disorganized personality.

  


The days that followed had him coming back to the same place bringing his own artillery; laptop, charger, hard drive and a wallet full of money for his coffee and snacks. Fortunately, the table he had occupied the day prior was still available when he arrived and so did the one across him. His brain was abuzz with thoughts of seeing the brunette again and the possibilities of maybe chatting with him.

But when the time came and the stranger sat on the table across him, he busied himself with his writing. Words naturally flowed out of his brain and into his fingertips, typing away on his laptop to distract him from the presence before him. However, he made the mistake of looking up and meeting eye to eye with the stranger. The brunette artist looked stunned for a moment, eyes widening, lips parting slightly before he was able to compose himself again and smile at Yifan. The author remembered nodding before bowing down again to type away. He didn’t even notice the dreamy look the brunette casted towards him.

The week passed by with nothing but nods and smiles here and there. No words or other gestures that meant they were acknowledging each other’s presence. And throughout the week, Yifan discovered more about the brunette. Well, more like assumed.

The author thought of the possibility that the stranger might still be in college because of his young looks and that he mostly had his classes in the morning, seeing as he was always at the café in the afternoons. But then again he heard one of the café staff calling the artist  _gege_ too. He gathered that the other had a sweet tooth based on his choice of drinks and snacks, always having a cinnamon roll to munch on, on the side for when he had his small breaks. Yifan saw him dump five spoonful of sugar on his coffee once and he couldn’t help but feel sorry for the man’s future diabetic self.

  


On Wednesday, a week after Yifan started to become a patron to the café, the artist received a call and waited for a while before answering it, as if he was thinking about whether he should press green or red. In the end, he did answer and a name of what Yifan supposed to be a man’s, passed through his lips, just above a whisper to fight with the jazz music in the café. Yifan didn’t hear the whole conversation but with the way the artist seemed to be gritting his teeth for most of the two-minute call (Yifan will never admit to counting it down), he knew it was not exactly a friend on the other line. When the call ended, the artist inhaled deeply and buried his mobile device deep in the recesses of his satchel, never to answer any calls again throughout his stay. Yifan could even hear the buzzing of the device but the artist refused to take the call.

_It must have been an ex or a really bad salesperson who kept calling him._ Yifan hoped and prayed it was the latter because the way the stranger’s eyebrows suddenly furrowed, eyes unfocused as he tried to finish whatever he needed done on his sketchbook, signalled Yifan that it was more than just bad sales talk.

The author wanted to sit beside him and maybe comfort him but he couldn’t do any of that. He didn’t want to look like he was trying to get involved in affairs that should not matter to him, besides he didn’t even know the other’s name.

A few minutes, and a few unsatisfactory strokes of his hand, later, the artist stood up, quickly packed his things away and left without saying his usual good bye to the owners of the shop.

Yifan was worried, to say the least, but all he could hope for was for the brunette to feel better the next day. Without him noticing it, the author’s story suddenly took on a sad note.

The following days allowed him to delve more into the stranger’s personality. He noted how the brunette always wore either a tank top or a loose shirt, the clothing never doing its job of keeping his skin covered, exposing more than what Yifan thinks he can take; the deeply carved collarbones, casual nipple slips from time to time and his arms that had nice lean muscles and cuts on it. The style showed how easygoing the artist was. Even the way he had interacted with other people, easily smiling and exchanging banter with them, young or old, proved this assumption. Yifan nearly cooed when the stranger held Minseok and Lu Han’s newly adopted baby boy in his arms. The artist’s voice instantly switched to a more high-pitched tone, babbling to the baby and tickling him when he felt the child was already comfortable with him.

Yifan liked it, hearing the brunette talk more and move more than just his hands. It allowed the author to hear his soft voice, which Yifan thought he could fall asleep listening to, lulling him and surrounding him with a comforting presence. Whenever the artist stood up, Yifan’s eyes would always follow him; noting the grace he had in his steps, the way his jeans hugged his sinewy thighs and how his rear looked really nice in his usual skinnies. His height looked perfect for Yifan, just enough for the stranger to lay his head on the author’s shoulder and just the right height for his hands to dangle near the artist’s plump behind.

The artist had a certain delicacy to him that made Yifan think that he was the type that was coddled by everyone around him. And the author couldn't see himself not doing the same; the stranger looked very fragile and like too much of an angel not to be given every ounce of love possible in the world. In the small amount of time since he started frequenting the café, the stranger had proven himself to be that kind who gives the same amount of affection, if not even more, to the people surrounding him.

The author always took down notes about him and his personality and how he could incorporate those into his stories. No matter how simple he was, Yifan found himself drawn to the artist, his lazy smiles and even lazier fashion sense (he wore his hoodie three times when there was a typhoon, neglecting the help of an umbrella).

And every day seemed to bring a new discovery.

Yifan happily sat on his chair, typing away with excitement extending to his fingertips when he heard the familiar drag of wood on wood. When he looked up, he saw the stranger unusually dressed in a white button down, the top two buttons undone, his hair pulled back showing a smooth forehead and his satchel exchanged for a brown man clutch that Yifan later found out held a few papers, his handy dandy sketchbook and a few pencils.

Being an author, he had to be able to express himself well with words but the image of the stranger in white, had his mind coming up blank, his word document left at twenty three words.

That vision was just totally different from how he viewed the artist that Yifan started to think that all of his assumptions might be incorrect. The style fit the artist effortlessly as did his laid back tank tops and jeans but the aura he had around him shifted to one of confident and commanding. Yifan couldn’t help but gawk at his appearance and how the style brought out more of his beauty.

The effect of the switch threw Yifan off in a good way, knowing that the artist had more than just one side to him. This only made the author extra eager to find out more about the artist.

That day he didn’t write anything related to his story, he just wrote how the stranger sat and scrutinized his works, his eyebrows furrowing with every page turned. And unlike the usual gentleness in his actions, that day they were sharp and brusque.

Sunday came and Yifan saw the artist with a huge smile plastered on his face, back to his delightful temperament. He heard him saying the words, “I got it! I got it!”, enthusiastically to Lu Han, one of the owners of the café as the older Chinese (much to Yifan’s disbelief) came to the stranger’s table bringing him his usual macchiato and mini club sandwiches.

“That’s great!” Yifan heard Lu Han exclaim, touching the stranger’s shoulder with so much affection that had Yifan sighing in both envy and irrational jealousy. Envy because the café owner gets to touch and talk to the artist freely while Yifan couldn’t. Irrational jealousy because even though he knew that Lu Han was in a healthy and loving relationship with the other owner of the café, a Korean named Minseok, he still felt a bit angered that someone other than himself touched his muse.

That day he discovered a little more of his  _inexplicable feelings_ for the brunette more than the things he learned about the stranger.

  


~+~

  


Weeks passed by with Yifan’s view being that of the stranger’s face and his quirky habits; his smiles easily garnering him a top spot in the author’s list of special people.

However, today is different and not for good reasons.

The brown mop of hair in its adorably awry state is absent. The sound of pencil on paper is missing and it is starting to become unnerving for Yifan. He cannot move his hands on his laptop, fingers frozen over the keyboard as his brain decides not to cooperate with him.

The author tries so very hard to type something, to come up with something but he can’t. He had to rest his head for a while, coaching himself that pressuring his brain to come up with something will only result in him having more trouble producing words. Yifan hopes, as he rests his head on his hands, that the brunette will show up some time soon.

Closing time is coming and there is still no sign of the stranger.

Yifan goes home with a heavy heart and an empty word document.

The next day is the same. The author arrives at the café at around three in the afternoon, orders his Americano and sits at his usual table. He doesn’t open his laptop yet as he tries to enjoy the surroundings, subtly listening in on people’s conversations, taking note of their drinks and meals but in the end even as his eyes wander around, his thoughts settle on the table across him, still empty of the stranger’s presence.

Lu Han comes up to him and offers to take another order of his coffee.

When the elder goes back behind the counter to let Minseok know about Yifan’s order, the author decides whether he should ask Lu Han about the stranger because they seem to be close friends. But then again, he doesn’t want to look like a stalker. Being there every day and sitting on the same table, waiting for the artist, already makes him look like one and going further by asking the café owner about his whereabouts might end up with him having a restraining order.

But when Lu Han returns with his mug, his mouth takes action before his brain can even protest.

“Lu Han?” The elder hums and turns his head to him, placing the tray on his side as he waits for Yifan to continue. “The guy who sits there,” the author cautiously points at the empty table across his, “he hasn’t been here since yesterday.” Lu Han’s lips open in understanding, an  _oh_ leaving his lips as he turns his head towards the stranger’s usual table.

“There was an accident that’s why he hasn’t been around.” Lu Han supplies, easily giving out the information as he eyes Yifan’s reaction. The author’s hand balls up against the table and a whispered  _what_ escapes him as he looks down on the hardwood floor. “An accident,” the café owner repeats himself.

“Do you know where he is? I mean,” Yifan shakes his head, words frantic as he pulls an image of the stranger badly battered and bruised from whatever accident it was that happened to him, “the hospital? Do you know?” All he can think of is being there for the stranger, not questioning anything else and not minding that he sounds a bit like a lunatic.

“Umm, yeah, of course,” Lu Han tries his best not to laugh, forcefully keeping himself tight-lipped as he watches Yifan card through his hair nervously, “we’re actually going there tonight,” he offers, feeling like it is time for him to play cupid, “Minseok and I, if you wanted to come?”

Before the café owner can even finish his sentence, Yifan was already saying: “Yes, yes.”

Yifan meets Lu Han and Minseok at the café again after going back to his place to shower and change. First impressions last, he keeps telling himself, and even though this isn’t exactly the first time he is going to see the stranger, this is going to be the first time that they will be introduced to each other. The author buys a fruit basket and even flowers, stuff that people would normally bring whenever they would visit someone confined. When he arrives at the café, he passes of Lu Han’s smile as something usual to him, although he did see a hint of mischief in it. The couple doesn’t say anything about the fruits and the flowers though as they board Minseok’s sedan, Yifan riding shotgun as Lu Han takes the back seat beside the baby.

On the way to the hospital, Yifan learns that the stranger’s name is Yixing,  _Zhang Yixing._ He thinks the name suits the stranger bearing in mind that he is an artist. Lu Han and Minseok don’t share more than his name though, allowing for Yifan to be the one to get to know Yixing more himself.

When they are right in front of the hospital door that separates them from Yixing, Yifan breathes in heavily, hands tightening around the flowers and basket they are occupied with. He braces himself when Minseok knocks and opens the door, poking his head and greeting Yixing before entering.

Once they are inside the private room, Yifan sees the stranger, Yixing, not on the bed but sitting on a chair beside it. On the bed, an elderly woman, who Yifan assumes to be Yixing’s grandmother, lay asleep. His mouth hangs open and before he can back out and leave the room, Lu Han pushes him to the front.

“Yixing, this is Yifan,” the author almost trips with how strong Lu Han pushes him, “I’m sure you know him.” Yifan smiles crookedly and hesitantly when he sees the artist stand up to acknowledge him. “He’s one of the regulars of the café.” Yixing hums and his eyes widen for a moment when he realizes who is standing in front of him.

“I, uhh,” Yifan doesn’t know what to say, stammering and fumbling with his words, “h–here,” he thrusts the bouquet and basket to a shocked Yixing before rubbing his neck in embarrassment. He doesn’t have an excuse for being there, other than the fact that he was worried about someone who he has never had personal contact with.

“Thank you,” Yixing replies, his voice soft like how Yifan remembers it and it instantly calms his nerves. The author notices how exhausted he looks, sleepy eyes drooping, dark circles heavy under his eyes and his actions seem sluggish.

“I need to talk to Lu Han for a while.” Yifan manages to say without tripping on his words, when Yixing turns back to him. Thankfully, Minseok is currently carrying the baby which makes it easier for Yifan to pull Lu Han out of the room.

“You said he was in an accident,” Yifan half-shouts once Lu Han closes the door behind them. His eyes widen when the elder laughs in his hand, his other hand slapping his thighs, looking completely entertained by what Yifan just said.

“I never said that  _Yixing_ was in an accident, I said  _there was an accident.”_ Lu Han explains, once he has calmed down from his laughing fit. Yifan grumbles and scolds himself. As an author he should be the one spotting technicalities in what people say. When the writer doesn’t say anything, just running his fingers through his hair in frustration, Lu Han adds: “Besides I’m getting tired of you stealing glances at each other, as much as I find it cute, it’s starting to get really frustrating.”

“Stealing–” Yifan starts but Lu Han cuts him off.

“Oh shush, you obviously like each other.” Yifan has no response for that, leaning against the wall as he hides his face on his hands again, remembering how embarrassing he was inside, “I know you kind of made a fool of yourself in there,” Lu Han tries not to snigger, “but trust me, I’m sure Yixing likes you enough to let that slide and did you see how tired he looks? He probably wouldn’t remember how you were like.”

“Wait, he likes me?” Yifan lifts his head up when he gets the gist of what the elder is saying but Lu Han is already halfway past the threshold, leaving him alone in the hallway.

  


~+~

  


Just as Lu Han had predicted, Yixing doesn’t seem to remember how Yifan was a spluttering mess when they first met. He did look more alert the next time the author visits and brings him dinner with Minseok and Lu Han.  
  
Yifan finds out that Yixing’s grandmother slipped while she was showering and had to be brought to the hospital. It was a good thing that she didn’t need hip replacement but she still had to undergo a surgery for her fracture. Since Yixing’s parents are currently out of the country for a vacation, the artist had to stay with his grandmother until they arrived back.

The author, instead of going to the café in the afternoons to write, heads to the hospital bringing snacks for Yixing and his grandmother. He also brings his laptop with him to keep Yixing company, even when the brunette didn’t ask for it. Yixing did share that his grandmother is asleep most of the time, so he has to divert his attention to finishing projects to escape boredom. Minseok and Lu Han stopped visiting Yixing and his grandmother daily, allowing Yifan to spend some alone time with the artist.

On Yifan’s fourth day of visiting the hospital, he bumps against Yixing when the artist leaves to buy a drink.

“You should have told me, I could have just bought it for you.” Yifan says in concern before offering to come with Yixing to the vending machine.

“It’s okay. I need to stretch my legs anyway.” Yixing asks the author to stay and watch over his grandmother while he buys himself a drink. Yifan protests at first but the artist wins over him with a dimpled smile.

In the middle of Yifan setting up his laptop on the desk he shares with Yixing while they work on their respective crafts, the brunette’s grandmother wakes and greets Yifan.

“You must be that handsome man my little Yixing has been talking about.” The old woman comments as Yifan sits on the chair beside the bed, stroking the author’s blonde mane. The author is both curious and flustered that Yixing is talking about him. But curiosity won over the other and he asked what Yixing has said about him. “Ah,” the elder reminisces the days when Yixing comes to see her before going to his own place and sharing stories about the handsome blonde who always sits across him, “he said you looked very cool cause your face was sculpted to perfection but when you smile,” grandmother Zhang pauses and there is a shine in her eyes, “you look like a very warm person.” She ended with a smile, a hand reaching out to pat Yifan’s.

“I have never seen him talk about someone like the way his mother talked about his father before,” she smiles, eyes disappearing, “take care of my little Yixing, will you?” Yifan gulps at the request, he has not even said anything to the artist about his feelings for him, “Make sure he doesn’t get hurt like before.” The melancholic tone in her voice speaks volumes and instead of turning her down, Yifan’s much larger hand covers hers and he just nods, a confirmation responded by another smile from the elder.

Things started changing from then on. Yifan becomes more touchy and showy of his feelings for Yixing. The artist easily accepts the shower of affection under the happy gaze of his grandmother, urging him every time Yifan does something that has his heart fluttering.

A week after Grandmother Zhang gets discharged from the hospital, two days after the arrival of Yixing’s parents, Yifan helps the artist and his family in bringing the elderly woman home. Yifan wanted to ask Yixing out on a date that day but it seems the old woman is a step ahead of him. When Yifan and Yixing finish placing her comfortably on her bed she comments: “Now you two can have a proper date outside of the hospital.”

Needless to say, Yixing and Yifan left the room with their faces beet red in embarrassment.

The date does happen though. Yifan was fortunately able to pluck up the courage to ask Yixing out the day after, sitting beside the artist as soon as he arrived at the café and took his usual table. He stammered and mumbled the question at first but Yixing was looking at him and smiling like a ray of sunshine that his courage increased ten-fold. The author pumped his chest out and took Yixing’s hand in his before he asked: “Will you go out with me?”

The blush dusting Yixing’s cheeks as he nodded his head had Yifan coloring as well, squeezing the artist’s hand in his as scenarios start playing in his head.

But if there was one thing he learned about Yixing through his observations and through the people around them, it was that he preferred the simple things.

Scratching all the plans his brain came up with, Yifan meets Yixing at, unsurprisingly, the café. Even with Yixing’s incessant questioning, he doesn’t let the younger know where they’re going until they have arrived.

The author loves the way Yixing’s eyes light up when they arrive in front of the theme park. The younger turns to him and smiles, squeezing his hand and conveying his excitement. He pulls the artist towards the entrance and pays for their tickets. They make full use of the day and enjoy every ride they can, laughing and sharing stories in the middle of walking and waiting in line. Yifan checks his watch every now and then to make sure they aren’t late for dinner, where he brings Yixing to a hole in the wall that he himself discovered when he was still in college and had since been a favorite place for him.

There are things about Yixing that he discovers for the first time while some assumptions are debunked. One of which is the assumption that Yixing is mainly an artist, since that is what Yifan always sees him doing, always drawing on his sketchbook. The younger actually works as a preschool teacher in the morning and though he is an artist, he is only doing freelance advertising work since being an artist doesn’t exactly pay the bills. He learns that Yixing took Fine Arts in the same university as he did. Since the campus is quite wide, even with just a year separating them, they never came across each other and maybe even if they did they were probably preoccupied with something else to notice each other. They reminisce about their university days and share stories that they know the other can easily connect with like how they would always find people making out behind that huge oak tree lined with tall shrubs. They laugh at the professors that they shared and how they could possibly look like at present time.

In between their third and fifth bottle of Tsingtao, Yixing’s hand lands on Yifan’s thigh while the author’s arm wraps around the younger’s waist. There are moments when they only look at each other and not utter a single word yet somehow they know what the other means. Yixing rubs his hand on Yifan’s thigh and the elder has to stifle the moan that was about to escape his lips and he squeezes Yixing’s waist in return. They quickly finish their food afterwards and Yifan offers to drive Yixing home, holding the younger’s hand throughout the drive.

Once there, Yifan decides to walk Yixing to his apartment, intertwining his fingers with the younger’s again. There’s comfortable silence throughout the quick elevator ride up until Yixing opens the door and offers Yifan a drink.

The younger has a dark look in his eyes and Yifan knows what it means but he waits until Yixing’s hands are sliding up his arms.

“I hope you’re alright with kissing on the first date,” Yifan murmurs before leaning down and bumping his nose against Yixing’s.

“I’m more than alright with that.” With the younger’s positive response, Yifan presses his lips against the younger’s, experimental and nothing too pushy. When the younger pushes against his mouth as he tries to pull away, he gives in and mould his lips with Yixing’s. The author was right, Yixing’s lips are kissable, tantalizingly soft under his.

To resurrect his image from their embarrassing  _first meeting_ at the hospital, Yifan pulls Yixing close and gives him a proper introduction, lovingly moving against the younger’s lips. He pulls away from time to time to kiss Yixing’s cheeks and jawline before going back to his lips.

The younger’s hands roam around, feeling Yifan’s strong arms before sliding higher to his shoulders, moving down to his chest and hard abs. Yixing hums, as if to show his approval of the elder’s built body. His hands slip under Yifan’s shirt and, in reaction, the elder’s hand on his hips tighten to pull him close and somehow stop his actions. Yixing’s hands come in contact with the skin of his abdomen and his fingers seem to soothe the elder, coaxing him to do more. Yifan nibbles at Yixing’s plump bottom lip and the younger easily opens up for him to slide his tongue in and taste the younger from the inside. The artist, being a lover of sweets, tastes like one and Yifan can’t get enough, swiping his tongue on the younger’s palate before twisting with Yixing’s own. The moans that leave the younger’s mouth get swallowed by Yifan as they breathe through their noses and never part for air.

“I think this is more than just kissing,” Yixing comments as Yifan finally frees his well-kissed lips to give attention to his face and neck. Yifan stops on his way to the younger’s ear, thinking that this is Yixing’s way of saying that he should halt his actions. When he pulls away though, Yixing asks him, his eyes aglow under the light of the entrance, “Why did you stop?” His eyebrows furrow and his hands delve higher into Yifan’s chest, hiking the elder’s shirt up before removing it. To the author’s surprise, Yixing kisses the middle of his chest, where his heart should be and whispers, “Don’t stop,” against it.

When Yifan doesn’t reply, too busy suppressing the groan making its way through his throat, Yixing tiptoes and spreads his own kisses up the elder’s neck, tipping his chin down with his finger, kissing it before capturing the author’s lips again. Without Yifan even noticing it, Yixing starts grinding against his crotch, their already growing erections rubbing against each other. Their kiss gets broken off by Yixing moaning when the elder pulls him closer for more friction. But then something about Yixing’s high-pitched moan breaks the elder’s reverie and he pushes down to stop the brunette’s actions.

“Slow down.” Yifan whispers against Yixing’s lips but all the younger does is whine and reach for his belt to unbuckle it.

He doesn’t stop the younger from unfastening his pants as Yixing counters with: “Don’t you think we’ve been slow enough?” Yifan hisses when Yixing pushes his pants and boxers down. The younger audibly groans at the sight of Yifan’s length.

“Yifan,” Yixing whines and Yifan thinking it is the alcohol that is muddling his thoughts, shakes his head. When Yixing doesn’t get what he wants, he pulls one of Yifan’s hands away from his hips and places the elder’s palm flat on his erection and rubs himself with it. The breathy moan and the erotic expression on the younger’s face has Yifan’s defences crumbling down.

The author flips their positions and presses Yixing to the door, kissing him fervently as he gets rid of Yixing’s shirt and lowers the younger’s pants just enough to pull his cock out. He spreads kisses all over Yixing’s chest, licking and flicking his tongue on the erect nipples; something he only dared to dream of whenever they occasionally slip out of the younger’s loose tops.

_“Yi–fan…”_ The younger, Yifan notes, is particularly sensitive around his neck and he takes advantage of this as he rocks against Yixing’s cock, their now throbbing members rubbing skin to skin. Yifan reaches down and smears their precum all over them to make the slide smoother. Yixing’s fingers claw at his back as he starts stroking their cocks with one hand, the younger’s moans passing through his ears and shooting straight to his groin. This makes his manhood become hotter and heavier in his hold. Yixing’s is the same as the elder abuses his nipples, sucking and biting them as Yifan’s other hand fondles the younger’s rear. The elder slaps Yixing’s ass from time to time before kneading them in his large calloused hand, the supple skin jiggling in his hold.

Yifan kisses up Yixing’s chest, leaving a few hickeys over the younger’s collarbones before swiping his tongue up the pale column of skin to the brunette’s ear. The younger whines when he slows down the pace of his strokes, flicking his wrist lazier as he attaches his lips to Yixing’s again.

“I really like you.” Yifan whispers, the words cut in between by his lips brushing Yixing’s, hoping those words are enough to convey his emotions for the younger and that he is not only jacking them both off because he wants to. The author suddenly kisses Yixing again in a flurry of tongue and teeth, pressing him even further into the door, his back flat against it and his ass kissing the cool metal. The younger reciprocates, threading his fingers into the elder’s hair, pulling when he needs to and massaging his scalp to encourage Yifan further. At that point, Yifan feels the familiar coil in his gut twisting and urging him to speed up and so he does. He can see that Yixing is in a similar state, hands grappling to hold Yifan and have him closer than ever. The elder releases his grip on their cocks and places his arm on the door beside Yixing’s head and as if on cue, the younger thrusts up in time with him. Their movements are fluid though rushed as they feel their orgasms slowly building up. Yifan supports himself on the door and holds Yixing’s hips, thrusting hard to give themselves the needed friction.

_“Yifan, Fan, mnnghh, Fan, Fan,”_ Yixing moans wantonly against Yifan’s ears, the sounds pushing him closer to his orgasm. The younger’s hands clenching and unclenching around his arm and his hair as Yixing whispers:  _“Close…cum–cumming, Fan, Fan, cum–ming_ .” The elder waits for Yixing to explode between them, the younger’s fluids coating their cocks and stomachs, making the slide between them even smoother. Yixing tries his best to keep up and maintain his hips movements but Yifan’s hold has him stopping as he feels the elder’s thrust start becoming irregular but the harsh quality is still there. He whispers words of encouragement against Yifan’s ears and waits until he releases thick ropes of cum between them with nothing but a deep grunt and Yixing’s name. Yifan’s starts slowing down once he’s done with his initial release. He dips his head down to kiss Yixing again, exchanging soft brushes of lips as they stay high in euphoria. Yifan’s hand reaches down to milk them empty of their fluids before pushing against Yixing’s body, not minding the fluid sticking to his front.

“I like you,” Yifan repeats the words over and over as he peppers kisses all over Yixing’s face, neck and shoulders. The younger smiles, closes his eyes and extends his neck as he bathes in the affection Yifan is giving him. When the elder goes back to his lips, he places a finger on Yifan’s pair, stopping him from getting another kiss. The elder grumbles but he shuts him up with four words: “I like you too.”

That night, among other things that Yifan learns about Yixing, the fact that he’s a really good kisser, and that he’s really frisky, are on top of the author’s list.

  


It is Tuesday afternoon and Yifan is seated at his usual table at the café but things are different now; a good different this time.

In front of Yifan is an empty space; the table across him now without an occupant. Instead of his lips drooping down to a frown though, they curve up and spread wide to produce a gummy smile as he feels a warm body pressing on his side. When he turns his head, with Yixing’s chin propped on his shoulder, the younger greets him with a kiss.

As Yifan smiles against Yixing’s lips, he thinks he can get used to this.


End file.
